


don't let's start

by goinghost



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (it’s brief but i figured i’d tag it just in case!), Bonding, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Crew as Family, Disordered Eating, Fluff, Gen, Other, Peter Nureyev's Onion-like Layers, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goinghost/pseuds/goinghost
Summary: Peter Nureyev had always been an outsider. He worked alone, and when he didn’t he never drifted close enough to the surface of whatever alias he was wearing for him to be anything other than a file in a rather overstuffed cabinet. He had done the song and dance of being himself and the universe had not been kind to whoever that person was. And so he wasn’t—that person, that is. Peter Nureyev did not stop to be Peter Nureyev when he could help it.--There are some things about being on a crew that Nureyev didn't anticipate. Sometimes you accidentally submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known and it's okay.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko & Peter Nureyev, Peter Nureyev & Jet Sikuliaq, Peter Nureyev & Rita, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Peter Nureyev
Comments: 47
Kudos: 173





	don't let's start

**Author's Note:**

> before i say anything, HUGE shoutout to the adult penumbra server for having the conversation that sparked this fic (special thanks to lex for the idea for the buddy section!) and also my roommate levi, who not only was a great beta in general but also helped me rework like the entire last scene and make it infinitely better. you've always got my back <3 
> 
> i'm so happy i've got another fic for the "Peter Nureyev's Onion-like Layers" tag! it's been a while but it feels like coming home. i just have so many thoughts about this beautiful man and the world needs to know. i hope y'all like them! 
> 
> title from 'don't let's start' by they might be giants
> 
> cw for internalized ageism and unhealthy work habits. that's the peter nureyev we know and love! also disordered eating briefly in the rita section. stay safe!

It was always something small. 

In fact, it was so small that he almost didn’t realize it at first. (A lie. He couldn’t help but be struck by it from the moment it started happening, for it was so unfamiliar to him.) 

Peter Nureyev had always been an outsider. He worked alone, and when he didn’t he never drifted close enough to the surface of whatever alias he was wearing for him to be anything other than a file in a rather overstuffed cabinet. He had done the song and dance of being himself and the universe had not been kind to whoever that person was. And so he wasn’t—that person, that is. Peter Nureyev did not stop to be Peter Nureyev when he could help it. 

And then he met Juno Steel. And everything shifted. 

Because despite the foolhardy nature of the concept, Nureyev trusted Juno. He trusted Juno from the moment he saw the detective attempting to climb out his office window at the mere thought of working with a suit like Rex Glass. He trusted Juno when he sussed out that he’d stolen his safe key as well as a kiss. He trusted Juno when he wrote the words “Your better half, Peter Nureyev” on a piece of receipt paper that he’d stuffed into his pocket without thinking. 

And trusting Juno led to some...complications. Nureyev worked alone, but he’d set himself up for a two-person job perhaps because he couldn’t resist the thought of traveling the galaxy with such a handsome lady by his side. He let pieces of himself fall like so much rain, watering the earth that was Juno Steel’s convictions. He both allowed and was forced to be vulnerable in a tomb miles underground while he desperately believed in a future he didn’t know would actually happen. 

Juno Steel saw a man that hadn’t been unearthed in years and appeared to like what that man became, even going so far as to believe in that distant future. 

And then the future became not so distant and it was altogether too much for Juno to handle. 

Nureyev told himself that he was not angry. How could he be, when this was to be expected? Of course Juno would be too stubborn and foolish to see the rich opportunity he was offering for what it was. Of course a lady so planted in the red dirt of a barren planet would not be able to float across the stars as Nureyev had promised—had begged. 

Still, it was a wake up call. Peter Nureyev worked alone, and this little...incident showed him that it was for good reason. If the system wasn’t broken then there was no need to attempt to change it. He filed the remainder of his unfortunate true name away for future consideration. No use thinking about it any longer. 

When a job on _Buddy Aurinko’s_ new crew opened up, he briefly wandered into his cabinet to pluck out a reminder of why he so rarely worked closely with anyone. Peter Ransom was no longer a hapless teenage revolutionary and he would not be fooled by a pretty face. He was doing this job because his debts demanded it, but he would stay at arm’s length over the course of the endeavor. Peter Ransom was not a man anyone wanted to be close to. 

And then he met Juno Steel. Again. And everything shifted into place. 

As he said, it was always something so small that no one saw any need to comment on it. Just a blip in the otherwise routine goings on of the Carte Blanche. 

One morning he woke up at five A.M. as always. He carefully disentangled himself from Juno, trying to avoid waking him up as well. Juno would complain endlessly if he were forced to be awake before the automatic hall lights even turned on, much to Nureyev’s early-rising chagrin. There was a minimal amount of Juno mumbling in his sleep and Nureyev’s heart longing to crawl back under the covers and be with his lady, but he had a routine to uphold. He must not slip, especially not when he grew older by the day. 

So he gave Juno a peck on his sleepy forehead and changed into his customary workout clothes and traveled down the hall to the Carte Blanche’s small gym where he would perform his daily stretches and exercises. He was not always alone at this early hour. More often than not, Jet would be there as well. They would silently nod to each other and Nureyev would quickly try to find the earbuds he always seemed to misplace so that he could listen to the classical music playlist he’d made for just this occasion. 

That morning, however, there was something odd. There was _music_ coming from the gym. Not just any music, but Nureyev recognized the familiar notes of a song he frequently repeated while he exercised.

He entered the room to see Jet doing push ups in the same corner he always was, only now there was a soundtrack to accompany him. He looked up when Nureyev passed through the door and said, “Good morning, Ransom.” 

“Good morning…” 

“I have noticed that you enjoy listening to this song. I can hear it through your headphones every morning.” 

“I’m sorry—”

“I have found that I also enjoy listening to this song.” Jet said, “I have programmed the speakers in this room to play it repeatedly until one of us tires of it and turns it off.” 

“Oh.”

Jet nodded, “I am going to resume doing push ups now.”

“Right, yes.” 

And that had been the end of that conversation. They’d both gone back to silently doing their own individual workouts as soft piano music echoed across the equipment. Nureyev tried not to think about the fact that Jet had noticed his enjoyment of a song, as it was a silly thing to be distracted over. There was no reason for it to weigh on his mind. It was just a foolish passing thought that needed to be put in its proper place amidst all of the other thoughts that raced through his head. 

Still, the moment stuck with him. He tried not to concern himself with why. 

* * *

The next incident was more...pronounced. 

It was errand day for the Aurinkos. They were docked on one of Jupiter’s moons and between jobs at the moment, so Buddy let them lose with various shopping lists and a request to be back by dinner. 

Nureyev spent his time pickpocketing Ganymede’s residents and window shopping with Juno on his arm. They were in charge of the grocery list, and Nureyev did actually have a few things he needed to pick up for himself (a new knife sharpener, for example), but they found themselves rather...distracted. He and Juno did end up picking up most of the food the rest of the crew had requested (even the horribly sugary snacks Rita insisted on obtaining by the box), however Nureyev’s own errands were forgotten in favor of a rather nice lunch reservation. 

It wasn’t until they’d gotten back to the ship that he realized he hadn’t obtained any of the things he’d wanted _or_ needed, but by then it was time for Juno to start working on dinner and Nureyev to look pretty and distract him. 

Dinner was almost ready when Buddy and Vespa bustled into the kitchen covered head-to-toe in shopping bags. Juno looked up from where he’d been stirring...something, “Geez, Buddy, did you buy out a department store? What’s all this stuff?” 

Vespa growled, “Can it, Steel,” before Buddy answered. 

“If you must know, darling,” She said, her tone as perfectly poised as the rest of her, “I had some shopping to do.”

“Yeah I can see that. Where are you even gonna put everything?”

Buddy arched an eyebrow, “Well seeing as how I don’t plan on heaping it all in your room, you’ll have to trust that it’s none of your business.” She finally began unloading the bags from her arms. After a moment, she tapped a finger to her chin, “Oh, I almost forgot! Pete, I finally got you a new knife sharpener. It should be in this bag,” she gestured to one she’d just placed by her feet.

Nureyev blinked. He’d been watching the exchange with an amused smile, but his mouth opened at Buddy’s words. “Beg pardon?” 

“A new knife sharpener, darling, open those ears of yours. You’ve been complaining enough about the quality of your old one that I took it upon myself to get a replacement.”

Nureyev blinked again. He tried to say something but it came out more strangled than he’d like and so he abandoned the word halfway through. He cleared his throat, “Thank you, Captain,” he said after a moment, sounding much more like Ransom’s easy confidence. “I’m sorry you had to go through the trouble.” 

Buddy waved a hand dismissively, “It was hardly any trouble. Vespa needed a new set of throwing knives so we were already in the neighborhood.” 

“And I know how to use ‘em,” Vespa said, but her threat was more routine than anything. Like she was saying it because it was to be expected, “So don’t go getting any ideas with your newly-sharpened knives or you’ll end up on the business end.” 

Nureyev accepted the threat as the strange ritual it was and didn’t comment further. Juno announced that dinner was ready and the conversation shifted from there. The rest of the crew entered the kitchen and Jet began setting the table for a family meal. 

Nureyev didn’t bother paying attention to what the others were saying around him. He found himself entirely wrapped up in his thoughts. Buddy had known to get him a knife sharpener, had he let himself be so careless as to whine enough for her to remember? Why had she purchased it for him in the first place? Was it to put him in her debt, even temporarily? The creds were negligible among thieves but there were other ways she could expect repayment. Owing Buddy some nebulous favor when she didn’t even have the decency to make the debt clear set him on edge. 

But a small part of him couldn’t help but think that maybe she’d just bought it for him because she’d thought of him. Maybe she’d just wanted to get him the gift. Of course, that part was illogical and painfully naïve and he knew better than to listen to it. He was moderately certain that the captain didn’t even _like_ him all that much—and not for a lack of trying to win her favor on his part. It made no sense for her to buy him something _just because._ This was some kind of trade. He just wasn’t aware of his end of the bargain yet. 

As dinner conversation continued and the evening shifted into another family stream night, Captain Aurinko never made it clear what he owed her in exchange. 

* * *

The Carte Blanche was, overall, a fantastic vessel. It was small enough that it didn’t give them trouble when they docked, but large enough that it fit all of the crew and their cargo comfortably. Nureyev had had nicer accommodations, but never as part of a “family” before, and almost always when he was posing as someone much richer than he ever could be. Yes, the Carte Blanche was a wonderful ship. 

There was one problem, however. 

“Steel, if you don’t get out of that bathroom right now, I’m kicking this door down, you hear me!”

“Geez, Vespa, it’s been like three minutes!”

“And I need to shower!” 

There was only one bathroom. 

The original design for the ship had more, Nureyev assumed. It was, after all, a converted vacation liner. However, for Buddy Aurinko’s purposes, the extra bathrooms had all been converted to storage space, shifted around bedrooms, or meeting areas. Nureyev could only guess what her reasoning for making six adults share a single bathroom could be. Perhaps she assumed it would bring them closer as a family.

“Alright, Steel, I’m coming in!”

“Seriously, Vespa, just let me wash my—Ah!” 

She had assumed incorrectly. 

Nureyev hovered around the entrance to the bathroom that Vespa had just busted through to find a frazzled Juno with his hands poised at the sink and his pants on, thankfully. Nureyev was holding his skincare basket and his small face towel. The longer he stood outside the bathroom, the stranger he felt. He was not a fan of traversing the ship without his face made up. Usually, he would’ve done his routine and applied his make up before anyone but Jet had woken up, but both Vespa and Juno seemed to have decided that they were going to be awake at seven in the morning today for whatever reason. It threw a wrench into his usual plans. 

Juno shouldered his way out of the bathroom, grumbling and rubbing his tired eye. He looked simultaneously like he’d just woken up and like he hadn’t slept all night. Nureyev reached a hand out to him as he passed, but Juno merely brushed him off. He was about to say something, maybe offer to talk about what was obviously troubling the detective, when Vespa crowded into his view. 

“Ransom,” she said. 

Confused, he blinked. “Yes?”

“You haven’t done your 14 step skincare shit yet?” 

Nureyev spluttered a bit. She’d gotten the amount of steps exactly right and he wasn’t sure how she knew that. After a moment of trying to start sentences and abandoning them he simply answered, “No, I haven’t had the chance to this morning.”

Vespa groaned as if she were actively being stabbed. “ _Ugh_ , fine.” 

“Fine?” 

“Yeah, fine,” Vespa said. She stepped to the side so that she was no longer taking up the entire doorway of the bathroom. “You can do your stupid routine and I’ll take a shower after.”

“Beg pardon?” Nureyev had not become any less confused during this entire exchange. 

Vespa looked to be a few seconds away from causing him bodily harm. “If I don’t let you do it now, you’ll never stop whining about it. Just get in the bathroom before I change my mind.” 

Nureyev did as he was told, bustling into the bathroom in a rush before Vespa could _actually_ cause him bodily harm. She stomped off with a huff. He watched her go with a tilted chin. Just another uncomfortable interaction with Vespa, he tried to tell himself. Yet, even as he started his routine he couldn’t help but replay the conversation in his mind, analyzing it for some factor he wasn’t consciously aware of. Strange. 

* * *

Nureyev was tired. 

It was late, or early, depending on your definition of time. Five o’clock in the morning, to be exact. He had not slept a wink. He’d spent the past six hours reviewing the floor plan for the building that they were infiltrating on the next heist. Nureyev’s usual jobs tended to involve less outright cat burglary and more schmoozing with the rich, but he’d added a new stretching routine in order to prepare for the maneuvers he’d be doing on this job to avoid the laser grid system present at this facility. 

He had not slept because he had a system, and right now he refused to believe that system would be failing him. As per the norm, he would review the entire layout as a whole, then every entrance and exit, and finally the various security measures (with extra attention paid to the laser grid). Between each section he’d test himself until he could recall the map laid out in front of him perfectly five times in a row. That was the issue. He hadn’t even begun looking at the entrances and exits. The floor plan was being particularly stubborn about slipping from his mind. So far he’d only managed to recall it accurately three times in a row. 

The Juno that lived inside his head and told him off when he got like this insisted that this was because he’d barely slept the night before and he was simply tired. Peter Nureyev, however, knew that that was no excuse. Five years ago he would’ve been able to have these plans memorized fully already, even with only the 3 hour nap he’d had the previous day. Nureyev was not that man from five years ago anymore and there was never as stark a reminder as when he was attempting to be _useful._

It was ridiculous. He had changed none of his study methods, yet it felt like everything had changed. Perhaps because everything _had_ changed. _He_ had changed. And that was the scariest thing of all. Every new heist they performed there seemed to be some new sign that his skills were deteriorating. Eventually he feared they would leave him completely, and then where would he be? _Useless._

A knock brought his thoughts out of their spiral. It wasn’t the customary _knock knock knock_ that Juno liked to give, more of a rapid-fire heartbeat against his door. He cleared his throat, “Come in.” 

The door slid open with a _whoosh_ and there stood Rita in all her glory, holding a large box with both hands. She fluttered inside and said/shouted, “Mistah Ransom! I knew you’d still be awake! You always get like this before a case—sorry a _mission_ ,” she waggled her eyebrows, “Oh, I feel so cool sayin’ it like that! It’s like we’re super spies or somethin’! Just like in _Live to Spy Another Day: The Story of Two Spies In Love But One Of Them Is Also A Giant Lizard_ when Gretta tells Lizzy—that’s the lizard one—and Penelope what the next mission’ll be but she does it through self-destructing comms units! So there’s always a big explosion right after and the effects are real neat, but—”

“Rita,” he interrupted softly, “What are you doing here?” 

She gingerly picked her way through his room and stood directly in front of his overcrowded desk. “Well, you ain’t been outta this room in a real long time. You weren’t even at dinner! So I figured you probably hadn’t eaten yet.”

Nureyev’s stomach growled at the thought of food. How embarrassing. “You’d be correct in that assumption,” he said, “but it’s perfectly alright. I was planning on getting breakfast once I’d finished with this,” he gestured vaguely at the floor plan and his notes. 

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nope!” She said cheerfully, “You been in here for hours. You’re eatin’ or I ain’t leavin’.” 

“Well, I hardly think—”

“You’re burnin’ the candle at all ends right now, Mistah Ransom, you deserve a break. And your good pal Rita is here to give you one.” She held out the large box in her hands and Nureyev could see that it was full of the pineapple flavored granola bars he surreptitiously took from Rita’s stash on occasion. Perhaps it was a coincidence that she’d chosen the ones he liked the best. If not...He hadn’t even realized she’d noticed him taking them. It left a strange feeling in his stomach.

Tentatively, he reached out and lifted one of the bars from the box. He shouldn’t be doing this. He had work to finish that he’d made almost no progress on and there was no time for a _snack break_ when he hadn’t even managed a fourth repetition of the plans. This was highly irresponsible. 

But Rita’s face was encouraging and she looked like she was about to burst due to the pace of his slow movements. Eating one of the small bars couldn’t hurt that much, could it? He would just shoo Rita away and get back to work as soon as he was finished.

Nureyev unwrapped the granola bar and took a bite, then another, then another. He practically devoured it within seconds. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been. However, instead of filling him with energy as food was supposed to do, consuming it made him feel incredibly tired. Much more tired than he had any right to be. 

Through half-lidded eyes, Nureyev watched Rita shuffle around him and distantly heard her mumble, “Okay, Mistah Ransom, let’s get you to bed.” 

He felt himself being led across the piles of mess on his floor towards his bed, and, before he’d even realized it, he was laying down under the blankets. His eyes were completely closed at this point, but he heard Rita sigh softly as if in a dream. Her faraway voice said, “Night, Mistah Ransom.” And then he felt himself drift off. 

* * *

Nureyev woke up late. 

This was a problem, because he _never_ woke up late. In fact, he maintained a strict morning schedule that was not conducive to waking up late. 

He felt like death had come into his room, decided the mess was not worth it, and left a calling card in the form of a pounding headache behind his eyes. He blinked tiredly and noted that he appeared to still be wearing the loose silk shirt and high waisted pants that he’d been wearing the day previous. Odd. Then he blinked again and the events of last night came tumbling through his mind. 

Frantically, he searched for his comms and checked the time. The little screen read _11:06._ Oh, damn it all! He never should have let Rita enter his room. Now, not only had he slept well into the morning, but he was one day closer to their next mission and he had absolutely nothing to show for it. He’d been entirely unprofessional and for what? A few extra hours of rest? Years ago, that rest wouldn’t even have mattered. His body and mind were both slipping so far out of his control that he couldn’t even pull an all-nighter anymore. It was shameful. 

Nureyev made to leave his bed, stripping off the shirt and pants as he went and searching the ground for a suitable alternative. He desperately needed to do laundry, as well as take out the ironing board. All around him were wrinkled messes of shirts and pants that needed washing. Naked and still with a heavy hammer beating at his skull, he shuffled to his closet and grabbed the first top he could find. With a soft groan, he lumbered to the chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of black slacks to accompany it. He heard Juno in the back of his mind saying, _Black goes with everything,_ defensively every time he pointed out that the lady had five different black turtlenecks. 

Nureyev allowed himself a fond smile at the memory before he rubbed at his face trying to wake himself up. He needed to focus. He popped a few painkillers in his mouth for the headache and got dressed quickly. He decided to forgo his usual morning routine with the justification that this was not a usual morning. Family meetings were typically at 11:30 and so he at least had not missed that, but he hadn’t the time nor the wherewithal to do more than apply concealer and eyeliner. He even left his lips bare. 

Combing his fingers through his hair quickly, Nureyev set out to the kitchen and attempted not to wince at the bright lights of the hall. This headache was going to be bothersome today, he could tell. Hopefully the painkillers would kick in soon. 

The kitchen was bustling with activity, which made him wince again for an entirely different reason. There was no possible way that the others hadn’t noticed his absence. If only because he was typically the first one sitting down at the table in the mornings. When he entered through the doorway he almost expected a hush to fall and for comments on his laziness to start flying, but no one so much as paused. That was good, at least. It meant he did not have to suffer the embarrassment of being publicly shamed, even if he was sure he knew what they were all thinking of him. 

No one sparing him a glance also meant that no one had noticed the slouch of his shoulders or the stubborn bags under his eyes that he’d done his best to cover up. This really was a wretched morning. It almost made him not want to make his customary cup of tea, but he knew that if he didn’t have some form of caffeine then he’d feel even worse. 

With a sigh, he slumped over to the cabinet where he kept the jar of loose leaf tea he always made when Juno stepped in front of him holding a steaming mug. “Morning, Ransom,” he said, smiling crookedly, “Rita said you’d probably be up soon so I made some of that weird tea you like. Figured you could use the boost.” 

Nureyev blinked. “You...made me tea?” He didn’t even know that Juno knew how to _make_ tea. He’d only ever seen the lady drink coffee. And he’d made it for Nureyev because he thought it would help him. And now Nureyev didn’t have to make it himself. His stomach squirmed as if there were butterflies inside it and he felt his face heat up. Oh dear. 

“Uh, yeah.” Juno held out the mug for him to take, “Rita said you were up almost all night.” 

“Did she?” He made no move to take the mug. The butterflies got worse. He felt like a teenager with a crush suddenly. 

Juno’s crooked smile turned slightly confused. He tilted his head and Nureyev saw the moment he went into detective mode. “Yeah, she did. Are you okay? I didn’t hear anyone yelling at the bathroom door earlier so that means you didn’t do any of your usual stuff.” He peered closer at Nureyev, “Wait, are you not wearing lipstick?”

Nureyev quickly ducked his head away from Juno’s advances, “I’m fine, dear, just slightly...disoriented I suppose. I had a rather long night, like you said.”

“Yeah, but…” Juno shook his head, “Is it the tea? Do you not want it?” 

“No!” Nureyev all but shouted. Juno startled and almost dropped the mug. He cleared his throat, composing himself, “apologies, love. I just would very much like to drink the tea you made.”

Juno still looked unsure, but he held the mug out to Nureyev again. Nureyev smiled and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, taking it finally. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip. It was...exactly right. 

“Juno…” he said softly, almost without realizing it. 

Juno shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry if it tastes bad or something. I’ve seen you do it before, but I’ve never tried it myself.” 

“No, Juno dear, it’s...perfect.” It tasted as if he’d made it himself. More than that, it tasted as if he’d made it himself on a day where he was completely rested and had actually followed his schedule. Those butterflies had migrated to his entire body and he knew his face was bound to be red under his hastily done makeup. He was touched, in a way he’d never been before. He hadn’t known anyone long enough where they were aware of something as banal as the way he took his tea since...since before he’d left his name and his home planet behind.

Juno was saying something, probably something he should be paying attention to, but he couldn’t help but think of all the little moments of the past few days. Suddenly, he was both terrified and exhilarated all at once. There was only one person on the ship—only one person in the _galaxy_ who knew Peter Nureyev’s name, and yet he no longer felt like the Nameless Thief. There was more than one way to be named, to be known. The crew of the Carte Blanche had somehow learned the amalgamation of habits that formed the man who stood in Peter Nureyev’s place. They were aware of things he hadn’t consciously known he was projecting. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to shout or run or _something_ all at once but instead he just stood in place and tried to hear what Juno was telling him. He hadn’t ever prepared for this. He worked alone, he always worked alone. But suddenly he was in a family—something he didn’t think he’d ever been a part of, really—and he didn’t know what to do with everything that came with that particular label. 

Juno had stopped talking at some point. He was staring at Peter with a furrowed brow and concern in his eye. He knew he should say something, but his throat had closed up for some odd reason. Hmm. 

Like he was coming up out of water, he heard Juno ask, “Ransom? You good?” 

He cleared his throat. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it once more. “Juno.” He said. 

“Uh, yeah?”

He gently set the mug of tea down on the table and reached out his arms, wrapping them around Juno and holding him close. Juno startled momentarily, but returned the embrace after a pause. Quietly, as if in a dream, Peter whispered in his ear, “I love you.” 

Around them, the noise of the kitchen continued. He was distantly aware of Rita pouring cereal in an almost-overflowing bowl and Vespa trying to convince her not to use chocolate milk while Buddy laughed. He knew that Jet was doing one of his usual morning crosswords with his own mug of tea. But these things were background noise at best. They melted away until it was just he and Juno’s embrace. 

That is, until he felt Juno stiffen. 

He realized that this was perhaps a mistake. “I—Apologies, detective. I’m not sure what came over me. Please forget—”

“I love you too,” Juno said, all in one breath like if he didn’t say it at once it would never leave his lips. His voice was as quiet as Peter’s had been.

He blinked. Things were still happening, but nothing nearly so important as Juno’s body pressed against his and Juno’s arms around him. The butterflies multiplied tenfold and suddenly he really was a teenager with a crush, but he found he didn’t care. He leaned down and captured Juno’s mouth in a kiss. It only lasted a second (they were still in the kitchen, after all), but when he pulled away he and Juno both appeared dazed. 

“Uh, we should—go,” Juno said, loud enough for the others to hear. “I have a thing to show you in my room?” He shrugged his shoulders, “Really important thing. Definitely have to show you now.”

Nureyev nodded, “Yes, we should, dear detective.” He winked. “I hope I don’t get lost staring at your lovely visage on the way there.” 

Juno rolled his eye and lightly punched him in the shoulder, “Yeesh, Ransom, I bet you say that to all the ladies you confess to.” 

Nureyev laughed and simply took Juno’s hand. They walked together down the hall, and he thought that perhaps being known was not quite the ordeal he’d always imagined it as. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/GHOSTZVNE), where i tweet about my wife and the penumbra podcast a whole bunch! also Jokes if you're into that
> 
> comments and kudos give me the same emotion as the kate jones rita revving noise so feel free to drop some!


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